Living Out Clichés

“Life is full of surprises” is the cliché of all clichés. The world is full of them, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. I’ve heard them all, while wiping cheeks stained with mascara and tears. Those expressed with a hint of determination and a dash of embitterment like, “there are plenty of fish in the sea” and the always profound “shit happens”. And others that soothe, providing a sense of perspective like, “it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all”. But “life is full of surprises” is one of the few overly-used phrases that continues to prove its validity. Why just a few days ago my friend Chloe received her unexpected surprise. Her boyfriend informed her that after almost a year, his bitch-of-an-ex-girlfriend would be relocating from the sunshine state back to the empire state. But not all of life’s surprises come in form of a bitch slap. My cousin Kayla was recently engaged after a nine-year courtship with her baby’s daddy. He popped the question when she least expected it - at the point in their relationship when she had convinced herself it would never happen.

I’ve also experienced my share of surprises. Random emails from past boyfriends. Running into men I had permanently deleted from my cell. Six-degrees of separation with an ex and a new beau. But there is one event that I choose to replay in my mind almost daily. It is a moment I choose to remember as it also reminds me of yet another infamous cliché – “things happen when you least expect them”.

There I was, sitting atop the hardness of a blue seat, waiting for the Rowan Camden shuttle to take off and bring me to Rowan University’s main campus in Glassboro. The shuttle doors flapped shut and the driver turned around, exposing his pale skin and silvery hair. His thin lips moved slowly as he counted the number of students with his small blue eyes, beginning from the back of the shuttle bus and moving toward the front. He finally arrived at my seat but his gaze soon continued on, shifting to the young man sitting in the seat above me on my right.

The young man was dark skinned and tall. His hair perfectly curled and styled. The bright stud that hung from his ear shimmered as the sun peered from behind the clouds, setting its rays on the stone through the glass window. He sat there, his defined brows crossed and forehead furrowed, as he dialed numbers on his cell phone. I looked away, though I was surprisingly curious. He wasn’t my type but there was something about him. The shuttle took off and I watched the red bricks of buildings fade before encountering a traffic jam on Route 42.

“Fuck!”

My eyes strayed from the car bumpers and black asphalt and set themselves on the young man. The fuck had come from his mouth. He shut his cell phone and turned his body to face me.

“Excuse me. Is there usually this much traffic?

“I don’t know - this is the first time I take the shuttle.” I replied while observing him.

He curled his fingers around the metal rail in front of him. His shoulders tensed up as he stretched his neck in an effort to get a better view of the road.

“I don’t know if I have the patience to deal with this,” he said.

“Well, I really don’t have a choice. I’m from New York - I don’t drive,” I said.

He smiled, exposing his straight white teeth, and asked, “Are you a transfer student?”

“No. I’m a grad student in the writing program.”

He glanced back at me, brows raised now. He grabbed his green and black backpack and slid into the seat next to me. We were now face to face. His eyes - slanted downward and the color of coffee beans - were gentle, though his body language exuded strength and confidence. He seemed to be perfectly balanced between the masculine and feminine.

“How old are you? he asked.

“26,” I said.

He smiled again, like my being 26 had increased my chances, and said:

“Wow, I thought you were 20, 21 tops. So where are you living out here?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve been commuting to and from New York for the past week and just going to my assistantship in Camden. It’s a long story. Today is my first day of class.” I said.

As I spoke, he pulled out a piece of yellow lined paper from a notepad.

“I’m going to give you my number, just in case you need anything,” he said.

I smiled as he scribbled his name, number, and email address. He handed it to me and said:

“My name is Elijah by the way.”

I looked up at him and then looked away for a second, attempting to hide my shock. I turned back to face him and told him my name; he told me it was pretty. I thanked him, glanced down at the torn yellow paper where his name was written in big slanted letters, then folded the paper and placed it inside my wallet. He ripped another sheet of paper from his notepad so I could jot down my information. I wrote my name, number, and email address as he had, handed it to him and smiled. I guess all things do come to those who wait.